Harry Potter and the Unheard Prophesy
by Mute Prophetess
Summary: Truth be told, I have not been able to wait for the sixth book to come out, so this is like my own version of Harry Potter 6. It picks up where Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix left off.
1. Chapter 1:The Unheard Prophesy

Sibyll Trelawney slowly ascended the silver ladder and entered the empty Divination classroom--well, for the past several months it had been more of a flat than a classroom, ever since that wretched Umbridge woman had ousted her of a job. In the center of the room was her bed, in reality nothing more than a fat pink pouf under an Engorgement Charm, a small round table and her large winged armchair that once sat before the fire. In its place was another round table bearing a tea kettle, several bowls and a few pink and blue tea cups. A stew was simmering sweetly in a cauldron in the fireplace. The aroma spread to every inch of the room, drowning out the usual scent of too much perfume. _Pity_, she thought to herself as she glided toward the cauldron, _I always liked that smell_.

She sighed softly and stroked the stew, stirring it this way and that, tasting it critically and sprinkling seasonings atop it. Bits of chicken and pork swirled around in a grayish-brown broth with pieces of potato, carrots, broccoli and string beans. After making it just right, she set it atop the fire once more and covered it.

Of course, Sibyll was nowhere near ready for September. She still had to meet with (_Oh, what had his name been?_) the centaur, Firenze, to discuss the teaching arrangements. He, of course, could not climb the ladder into this room, and there was no way she was going to diminish herself to teaching in that forest of a classroom. Yes, something would have to be done--

A loud clatter from the fire grabbed her attention: the stew was boiling over. She hastily sped toward it, ladled a portion into one of the bowls and cleared the rest away with a flick of her wand.

She carried the bowl over to her armchair, careful to spill none of its contents, sat down gently and began to eat. As she took her first bite, Sibyll grimaced with distaste--it was not all that good. The stew was overcooked and salty and it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Then again, she had never really been a house elf in the kitchen. The only times Sibyll even attempted to cook were times like this, during the summer when she ate alone. It took her a couple of awkward bites before she could eat any of it with a straight face.

A gasp escaped her lips. With a loud crack, the bowl of stew tumbled from her limp, bangled hands and shattered upon hitting the floor. Sibyll, however, didn't seem to notice. Her eyes, magnified to many times their normal size by her large, thick glasses, began to roll slightly as she stared off into space. Her back and neck stiffened with the clinking of many beaded necklaces and chains. Out of the corner of her mouth, there even ran a bit of drool. Had anyone been near to see this, they probably would have thought her to be a thin, glittering yet epileptic insect.

"SO SHALL IT COME TO PASS," a loud, harsh voice seemed to speak through her, "THAT IN THE FIRST YEAR OF THE SECOND WAR...UNSEEN TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS SHALL AWAIT THE DARK LORD'S GREAT FOE...FRIENDS SHALL BECOME VILE TRAITORS...KNOWN ENEMIES SHALL SURPRISE ALL...AND ONE SHALL EMERGE FROM HIS SHADOW WITH THE POWER TO TURN HIS HEART...FOR THIS ONE...HE SHALL SACRIFICE ALL...SO SHALL IT COME TO PASS..."

Her head flopped forward onto her chest like a rag doll's before she suddenly snapped upright again. Her eyes immediately fell to the shattered bowl.

_What in the world?_, she wondered before flicking her wand and muttering, "Reparo!" under her breath. The pieces instantly zoomed together and sealed themselves along the cracks until it was no longer evident that the bowl had broken, unless one noticed the spilled stew on the floor, of course.

Sibyll stretched her neck and back; she had this uncomfortable crick all of a sudden that wouldn't go away. _What happened?_, she wondered silently. What could have caused her to space out like that?

* * *

Miles away, deep within the Department of Mysteries, a small glowing glass orb appeared on a shelf, unseen by anyone, with a label:

S.P.T. to Nobody

Harry Potter

and


	2. Chapter 2:OWL Post

Harry Potter jerked awake with a jolt of pain in his scar and fell out of bed, twisted up in his sheets, for the third time this week. He absentmindedly rubbed his forehead with vigor, but it wasn't the pain that was bothering him. Over the past year or so he had been getting these pains regularly, always accompanied by some strong emotion that wasn't his. It had always given him some sort of insight into the moods and feelings of Lord Voldemort. His worry lied in the fact that recently, the sharp twinges of his scar brought none of these strange feelings.

_Maybe it's nothing_, he though to himself, still rubbing furiously. _Maybe Voldemort is simply blocking his mind like Dumbledore wanted me to do last year._ Harry didn't actually believe that, however. If Voldemort had been using Occlumency to keep Harry out of his mind, how come Harry's scar continued to hurt?

A soft tapping on the window stirred him from his thoughts. A bright snowy owl was waiting rather impatiently outside, surrounded by a tawny, two barn owls and a tiny ball of feathers called Pig.

"Hedwig!" Harry called to the snowy owl happily. He untangled himself from his bed sheets, rose ungracefully from the floor and darted to the window to let them in. Pig zoomed into the room first, soaring about here and there as fast as he could. Hedwig, perhaps trying to show how a _proper_ post owl was to behave, merely swept over to his shoulder and held out her leg so Harry could remove the parcel and letter. When he was done, she nipped at his shirt affectionately and flew to her cage for nourishment. Harry saw Hermione's neat script atop the parcel and smiled fondly as he placed it upon his bed.

He then turned to the barn owls. One was from Hagrid, Harry's half-giant friend with a certain fondness for monstrous creatures, while the other was from the Order of the Phoenix which, Harry was happy to note, was no longer hidden in Grimmauld Place. He untied the parcels from each and placed them beside Hermione's. The tawny, however, did not carry a package, just a letter with the official Hogwarts seal. Harry gulped: it was his O.W.L. results. He held the letter limply in his hands and stared at it, not noticing that the tawny had flown off impatiently, followed by the two barn owls.

Why had he been so foolish as to pick, of all careers, that of an Auror. He knew he couldn't possibly have earned the marks needed. What would he say to Professor McGonagall, who had been so determined to see him through this goal?

He bit his lower lip, knowing he would have to open it sooner or later, and he knew that the longer he waited, the more anxious he would become.

In a slow, almost painful motion, Harry slid his finger underneath the fold and tore the letter open pulling out the parchment uneasily. His eyes scanned it hastily and his heart leapt: he had done much better than he had thought. On the left hand column were written the courses he had taken O.W.L.s in and on the right were the letter grades, which went in order: O for Outstanding, E for Exceeds Expectations, A for Acceptable, P for Poor, D for Dunce and, according to what he had heard from Fred and George Weasley, T for Troll.

"Transfiguration...E," he read aloud, "Defense Against the Dark Arts...O(Harry remembered his DA meetings from the year before and wondered how many students made decent marks under his tutelage), Care of Magical Creatures...E, Charms...O, Divination...P, Astronomy...A, Herbology...E, Potions..."

Harry gaped at the paper. There had to be some mistake. He couldn't possibly have made an O in Potions. He was half in complete shock, half in absent-minded euphoria. _I got an O in Potions..._

But then it dawned on him: if this was correct, he would be taking N.E.W.T. level Potions, another two years with Snape. Harry couldn't stand the idea of it.

A sharp smack to the back of his head reminded Harry that Pig was still there, flitting around the room and carrying a parcel that, although small, was much too large for him and caused him to fly at a lopsided angle. "Well, come on then!" Harry commanded, reaching up at him. "Give it here!" Pig continued to stay above his grasp, but when Harry leapt up and grabbed the parcel, he was able to drag Pigwidgeon back down to him so he could untie him. "There," he said finally after retrieving his parcel. He opened the window and let Pig soar away into the rising sunlight.

Harry sighed happily as he turned to his bed. He had four presents to open, and he couldn't decide which to open first. His eyes scanned each in turn, but as they rested on Hermione's, he got this funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't that unpleasant, actually.

He picked up her letter and read:

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! I hope all is well with you. I've missed you and Ron so much!

My summer has been passing well so far. My parents left on a tour of Europe, but I told them I didn't want to come so I was allowed to stay behind. I've already gotten all of my homework done, of course, and I've been looking for work. Unfortunately, the only jobs available are dreadfully boring; they are all about menial labor. Ah, well, I guess money is money, isn't it? I told Ron about my search for employment and he couldn't stop laughing, at least that's what Ginny said.

Speaking of Ron, he's been sending me innumerable owls complaining about Percy, who, from what I gather, has been sucking up to everyone since...well, since the Department of Mysteries incident. It's been driving him crazy, but at least the family is back together and in good graces.

I really hope we can see each other before school starts, but if not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express.

Love from

Hermione

P.S. I got ten O.W.L.s! Mum and Dad are so proud!

Harry smiled softly at the letter. Why did he suddenly feel so light and happy just from reading it? He'd read many letters from Hermione before, but never felt like this when he did.

He shrugged and placed the letter on his bedside table before turning to his present. Careful not to tear the wrappings, Harry removed the paper shell. In its place was a large, leather-bound book. On the cover were the words "Dumbledore's Army," written in glistening golden lettering and a black and white photo of himself that waved frantically at him from within the Room of Requirement. He flipped through the book to find dozens of more pictures. The moving photographs depicted wonderful moments from the Defense Against the Dark Arts group he and Hermione had organized illegally the last year they had been at Hogwarts. Many of them were if Neville mastering various spells, charms, jinxes and countercurses, feats no one had ever expected him to accomplish.

One picture caught his eye especially. It seemed that Hermione had tried to tear it out of the book, but half of it still remained hopelessly stuck. The piece Harry could see contained a beautiful silvery swan vapor that swum around in the air. He immediately understood. Cho Chang had been on the other side of the photo, shouting, "Expecto Patronum," with the others. Hermione must have tried to tear her off so Harry wouldn't be upset by a reminder of their breakup. He was grateful for the thought.

_Thanks, Hermione_, he thought to himself, not quite sure if he expected her to hear it. He placed the book on the table beside the letter and proceeded to open the rest of the presents.

Ron had sent him Fred and George's latest invention: a self-hexing wand. The letter said that it was for use on "that brainless git, Malfoy." Harry grinned mischievously before placing the fake wand in a place where he wouldn't confuse it with his own. Hermione had been right, of course. Half of Ron's letter was taken up merely by ranting on and on about Percy's efforts to suck up to Mum and Dad, how Percy had taken to being overly generous to the whole family. Ron, apparently, now had a new set of robes, a cauldron and a Nimbus-line broomstick, all from Percy.

The letter from the Order of the Phoenix, however, wasdisappointingly short this time. It basically wished Harry a happy birthday and told that everyone was very busy working on a recent development that had come to their attention. The gift was book as well, but this one was filled with photos of Sirius.

Harry slammed the book shut and held it close to his chest, trying in vain to prevent tears from falling. Mad-Eye Moody had sent this, Harry knew instantly. Only he would think to send such a painful gift. Harry still hadn't had enough time to grieve properly, and he didn't need this thrust upon him by surprise on what should have been the happiest day of the year, especially since it was his fault Sirius had died in the first place. If he hadn't gone to the Department of Mysteries, Sirius would still have been at home, out of harm's way.

Then again, it wasn't the first time Harry had caused someone to die. Back in his fourth year, he had told Cedric to take the Triwizard Cup with him. If he had only gone alone, Cedric would be alive. And his parents...they had died to save him. It was always his fault.

_Stop it!_, he commanded himself mentally. _Don't think like that, those events...they weren't my fault._

He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to relax. Grabbing his quill and some spare parchment so he could reply to the letters, he thought to himself, _It's going to be a long night._

* * *

Hey, everybody! I just wanted to say thanks to the peeps who have given comments on this so far:

butteredflies: Thanks for the review! I was kind of thinking the same thing myself.

Short Fat Fag: Again, thanks for reviewing! Here's the update; I hope it keeps your interest.


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